


11 Drafts

by antlersantlers



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Sequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - New Girl Fusion, Banter, F/M, Fluff, Gen, Male-Female Friendship, Roommates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:42:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27728950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/antlersantlers/pseuds/antlersantlers
Summary: All Ben has to do is write one single email to the woman he met on the bar crawl. He’s a competent adult man, how hard could it be?New Girl AU, inspired by season 4 episodes 15 (The Crawl) and 17 (Spiderhunt).
Relationships: Rey/Ben Solo
Comments: 8
Kudos: 42
Collections: Who's that ship? It's Reylo!





	11 Drafts

**Author's Note:**

> This is literally the first thing I've ever written, so big thanks to Britt and my coworker/prank victim/friend Cat for taking a look. I'm definitely more of a visual farts kind of gal, but creation can be as important as consumption (and lord knows I've consumed a lot in this fandom). Nothing ventured, nothing gained.

Ben sits in the kitchen trying to write an email. He just has to write one and he’s been thinking about it non-stop for a week. In his hand he holds a heart-shaped post-it with “EMAIL ME” written in big letters like a candy heart. He flips it over and looks at the neat handwritten email address of the women he’s attempting to court. At this point in the week the note is creased and bent. Poe spilled coffee on it earlier this week, for which he yelled at him and flushed the toilet while he was in the shower. That doesn’t really matter though because Ben had already memorized it. 

He starts a new message. 

> Dear Rey,  
>  It’s Ben. From the bar. Well, bars plural because we met like 4 times on Valentine’s Day. Anyways. Do you want to go on a date with me? I can obviously string several sentences together and I promise I am not usually a creepy lothario trying to pick up women in bars. 

Dear Rey? He’s not being forced to write a thank you note for Christmas socks. He wants to sound easy breezy and smooth, not stilted and desperate. New email then, because every word of that email is a lost cause. 

Drafts 2-6 are not his best work. Negging (not sure why he even tries), super bravado (overcompensates in the opposite direction), fun facts (the words island and isle come from different roots. Relevance? Fucking nil), a list of his best qualities (not great, but clearly not the worst), and his meandering thoughts on the weather. It turns out his first attempt wasn’t his most pathetic and he scrunches up his face hoping it might squeeze a good idea out of his non-functional brain. 

Poe drops into the chair next to him, clearly with something on his mind. 

“Where the hell is this dog shit coming from,” he nearly shouts. “I mean, not like dog shit, but like all these dog things. It’s like every time I turn around there’s more dogs. Man, someone changed my phone background! I can’t let BB see this.” 

“You can’t let your cat see pictures of some dogs?” Ben asks, swallowing a chuckle. 

“This isn’t merely one doggy daguerreotype. At first it was just a few stickers, now there everywhere. Plus you _know_ my BB baby is sensitive, man. I just want to shelter her from the turpitude of the world.” Ben wonders if he planned exactly what he was going to say just to trot out some fresh vocabulary words. 

Poe’s eyebrows are working overtime, waggling all over as he explains his predicament. “And the weirdest thing is, they’re just on _my_ stuff. Like it started with my clothes, but when I put a seltzer in the fridge yesterday, and an hour later I came to grab it and there was a damn dog on it.” 

“Where do you think it’s coming from?” 

“So I’ve narrowed down the suspects to everyone in the loft. Plus the landlord. Plus any ghosts,” he answers with total sincerity. 

Ben is uh-huh-ing along with him until the last addition. “Ghosts? Really?” 

“Don’t be rude, Benjamin, you know spirits love me,” Poe says indignantly. 

“A+ detective work there, Dam.” 

“Shut up Ben,” Poe spits back, putting a little mustard on his name. “You can’t even write an email. To a _girl _.”__

* * *

____

____

A week earlier Ben was in a fancier than average bar. His idiot heart-broken friend dragged everyone out to this absurd bar crawl on Valentine’s Day. Finn kept insisting this had nothing to do with his break up (it did) and they all ditched their _actual_ plans to make sure he didn’t get alcohol poisoning. They had 6 bars to hit in 5 hours (“Guys it makes a smiley face!!” Finn jabbered loudly while pointing at points on a printed map), and this was only the first. 

Ben and Poe were sitting at the bar when Poe asked, “So what’s the plan tonight, Benny baby? Are you gonna hit on girls like a normal dude or you got some kind of ploy?” 

“Hey man, it’s Valentine’s Day,” Ben said dismissively. “I’m not trying to meet a damaged weirdo to date, I’m trying to meet a damaged weirdo to bone.” 

“Well at least try to find one who doesn’t steal,” Poe responded with an over-dramatic eye-roll. 

“Like you were gonna read those books!” 

“I was!” Poe yelled back. “You know Doris Kearns Goodwin is my queen.” He reached into his stuffed backpack and pulled out ‘Team of Rivals.’ 

“So that’s your plan? You’re gonna babysit your friends and read about Lincoln’s cabinet?” Ben asked. 

“Yeah, man. I’ve got work in the morning. Plus BB doesn’t like it when I bring home dates.” 

Ben groaned. After a string of bad jobs and bad dates, Poe had become obsessed with his cat, his new job as a cop, and his stupid word-a-day calendar. All of these recent acquisitions seemed like terrible ideas. 

“Ok hit me. What’s tonight’s stratagem?” 

Ben smirked. Ms. Connix (7th grade English) had given Valentine’s Day nicknacks to all the teachers. He had scored a pad of heart-shaped sticky notes and Rose got a pack of glittery puppy stickers. He had his post-its and a sharpie in hand ready to try out the goofy pick up strategies they had jokingly workshopped while hucking chalky sweetheart candies at napping coworkers. Rose had landed “TEXT ME” in Mr. Plutt’s open mouth; because while she had just started as vice principal, she would always be break room free throw MVP. They had made a list of all the worst sayings, real and imagined, and now Ben was going to put them to good use. Or if not good use, then just use. 

Valentine’s Day at terrible bars seemed like a perfectly adequate place to find a fresh hook-up. Usually it didn’t take much for Ben to pick up women. While his middle-school teaching job often proved less than swoon-worthy, working out too much picked up the slack. He usually quirked an eyebrow when women would stroke his arms saying, “I bet you could like totally bench press me.” He could, and one time he actually did (in bed, though, not at a dingy bar). He had always been really tall and had grown into his unconventional face eventually. But the winning combination was his low voice and confidently telling a woman what he’d do once they left. He cleaned up, with or without a gimmick. 

Ben took out his pen and wrote the first conversation heart-esque platitude and then scoped out the talent. There were two women comforting a third who was crying into a cosmo. He was looking for lonely and desperate, not sad, lonely, and desperate. There was a cute woman sitting alone, and as soon as Ben made eye contact she smiled and waved. He was about to make his way over when a dude brushed past him and joined her. Moving on, he spotted a taller woman in a burgundy henley ordering a drink. She’s cute. She would do. 

“You’ve got something on your back,” Ben said, pointing to the sparkly dog sticker on his shoulder. “Watch and learn, playa.” He left Poe straining to find what was stuck to him and walked down the bar. 

“Hey,” he said with a smile, “I got a sweetheart message for you.” He held up his note and casually leaned against the bar. He tried to play it smooth enough to hedge his bets between sincerity and satire, depending on how she reacted to his gambit. 

“The letter U, the letter R, hot,” she read off his note and stared back at him. “Is this the best you’ve got?” 

“Yup,” he said with a raised eyebrow, hitting the p especially hard and returning her gaze. 

She stared at him with the look of a woman who does not suffer fools. This Valentine’s Day lonelyheart stared right through him. This bar nobody stared for a _long_ time. He started counting after a few seconds, because he was definitely not going to back down first. Six… seven… eight… nine… ten... 

“ _Wow_ that is weak,” she responded, finally breaking eye contact and grabbing her drink. “Do you think that would ever work on any woman? Anywhere? In any galaxy?” Each escalation made Ben feel a little more foolish, but this kind of thing was always a numbers game so he needed to buck up. 

“You tell me,” he said, mustering what was left of his bravado. He extended a hand, “Ben.” 

She narrowed her eyes into an icy glare and offered neither her hand nor her name. He tried to shrug it off. “Right, yeah. I’m just, you know, giving it a try.” 

Finn ambled over and practically shouted into his face, “HEY one minute warning!” 

Ben narrowed his eyes. “I’m kind of in the middle of something right now —” 

“You’re _really_ not,” she interjected. 

Finn, only one beer deep and already traitorous, made no effort to contain his laughter. “She hates you Solo! Let’s gooooo!” 

“Bye forever!” she chimed. Ben gave a small wave and downed the last of his mediocre beer. He glanced back on his way out to see her joining her friends, clearly recounting this most recent of terrible pick up strategies. 

* * *

“Hey, what do you think the statute of limitations is for eating candy you find in the couch?” Finn asks. 

Ben is grateful for the diversion, albeit a confusing one. “Like Halloween candy?” 

“Wrapped. Non-Halloween candy,” Hux corrects in a clipped tone. “Disgusting couch candy, just _sitting_ there for _months_.” 

“Nah man, it’s wrapped! It’s good forever,” Finn replies. Ben keeps his mouth shut, along for the ride. 

“It has been _warmed_ by our _rear ends_ for months, Finn. It has been _repeatedly_ scented by flatus by _every member_ of this _loft_ ,” Hux steams, over-enunciating with frustration. 

“I don’t know what flatus means, but someone probably farted on it,” Finn taunts back. 

He dramatically unwraps the misshapen Reese’s mini cup (more of a lump at this point) and holds it above his tongue. Ben guesses even Finn would admit that it looks squished and re-melted beyond recognition, but messing with Hux’s neuroses is almost always worth the risk of foodborne illness. 

“Finn. _Don’t_. I’m gonna… hhhhhnnnggg,” Hux begs before he starts theatrically gagging (theatrical for most people, normal for him). Ben winces as he watches Finn eat the mottled candy, chomping in Hux’s face for maximum effect and doing a little dance to really put a ribbon on it. 

“Animals!” Hux yells and retreats down the hall only to be pursued by Finn continuing his joyful couch-candy dance. 

Time for a fresh draft. 

> There once was a girl named Rey.  
>  The jerk hitting on her didn’t know what to say.  
>  He wants to ask her on a date,  
>  In a way she won’t hate.  
>  So why the fuck did he try to write a fucking limerick

In _what possible world_ would a _limerick_ work on anyone? His brain unhelpfully replays her initial rebuff and his embarrassment deepens. Ben knows he’s too in his head and somehow he still can’t stop himself from writing whatever this garbage is. “Poetry” seems like a far too generous term. 

* * *

The second bar on the crawl was a tiki bar. Paige had procured a tray of some overly sweet fruit drinks in an assortment of colorful ceramic glasses. They even had tiny umbrellas, which looked practically microscopic in his hands. She had chosen the drinks citing an absurdly high alcohol content and her desire to “fuck shit up.” Where Finn’s break-up was fresh, Paige’s was older. She had Hux had broken up more than a year ago, but she still didn’t like watching him get serious with his new girlfriend. 

Paige and Rose downed their drinks incredibly fast. The Tico sisters were notoriously punchy once they started drinking so Ben wandered off to continue his quest to get his dick wet. Certainly this bar couldn’t be any worse than the last. All he wanted was a not-too-drunk girl to sleep with, preferably one who wouldn’t scold him for shootin’ his shot. There were plenty of women standing along the bar, most with the exact “fuck it, it’s Valentine’s day” vibe he was looking for. 

He surveyed the bar and zeroed in on a hot girl. She was facing away from him, so he had to assume the gorgeous ass and soft-looking wavy hair belonged to a hot girl. 

He sidled up next to her. “Hey sweetheart,” he started, but stopped as soon as she turned around. Ben found himself glowering at the same woman who had shot him down at the last bar. 

“Don’t call me sweetheart,” she said, disdain evident. 

“Well what do I call you then?” 

She sighed, realizing she had walked right into that one. “Rey.” 

He pulled a face. “Like the man’s name? Like short for Raymond?” 

“Rey with an e,” she explained, quickly rolling her eyes. 

“Well, _Rey_ ,” he tried to emphasize the e, “do you have any slutty friends with women’s names you can introduce me to?” 

“Absolutely not!” she huffed. “Are you seriously trolling for desperate women on Valentine’s Day?” She gave him a light smile, as if she’d discovered some secret instead of his incredibly obvious, if pedestrian, plan. 

“I’m not _not_ doing that,” he attempted. She gave him the disbelieving look he deserved. 

“Ok fine, I am doing that,” he said, without any hint of apology. “You wanna sleep with me? If not I’m gonna, you know, do my thing.” She looked at him and her scrunched up eyebrows relaxed for a moment. 

He turned over the pad of sticky notes in his hands. “This time I was thinking of slapping one on my arm and doing a whole ‘heart on my sleeve’ thing.” 

“ _Woof_ ,” she said, shaking her head. “You know what? I’m confiscating these,” and she grabbed his sticky notes and walked off. After Poe had sufficiently razzed him for failing at the last bar, he wasn’t actually going to try another gimmick and was just going to use it to write his number. A heart-shaped note was more memorable than a bar napkin. 

“Hey! Those were a gift!” he half-heartedly shouted after her. She just flipped him the bird and disappeared into the crowd. 

* * *

Paige sits down at the table with him. 

“What’s happening?” she asks, noting the yelling down the hall. 

Ben lifts his eyes from his computer. “Finn ate some old candy from the couch to make Hux mad and throw him off before his big date with Gwen Phasma, City Council.” He imitates her formal-friendly political tone and says her whole name and title like she does every time she greets all of them. She’s met the whole gang several times, but every time it’s full name, firm handshake, title. 

“He always went nuts whenever he found something wedged in my couch cushions,” Paige says with a fond smile and an eyebrow waggle. 

Ben levels his gaze at her. “Paige…” 

“What! He’s dating what’s her face! I don’t care!” 

“Sure.” 

“What are you working on?” she asks with sing-song curiosity, obviously looking to pass some time before she investigates the ruckus down the hall. 

“I am trying to email that girl from the bar crawl.” 

She does a baby-gasp, “The one who _actually liked_ you?” He nods, acknowledging both the girl and the improbability. “What do you have so far?” 

Ben glances down at a particularly weak draft and reads, “Hey girl, lay up on me.” He sighs and covers his face with his hands, spreading his fingers to see Paige’s grimace. 

“Good luck,” she says as she stands up. “Where’s Rose?” 

“Room,” he replies, returning his focus to his fruitless email quest. She wanders off to bother her sister while they watch their ex-boyfriends torture each other. 

He can do better than lay up on me, right? Obviously. He starts a new draft once he’s alone at the table. 

> Rey,  
>  Instead of going on a date, you should just come over to my loft

As he types that he hears a clatter followed by yelling and a shriek. No, definitely his loft. A shared loft with four other roommates/idiots, and there is literally no chance in the world they won’t embarrass him. 

> Rey,  
>  Instead of going on a date, I come over to your place. You’ll let me in and it won’t even take a minute before you’re pressed up against a wall with your long legs wrapped around my waisttttttttttttttttttttttt 

Nopenopenopenope. His head smashes his fingers into the keyboard as comes back to his senses. Terrible idea. Well, the idea itself is sound but objectively Ben knows that women get hit on by the grossest dudes in the grossest ways all the time. Especially women as gorgeous as Rey, a woman he wants to date _and_ fuck, not _just_ fuck. He stars this draft to workshop later, maybe after a few dates. 

* * *

Karaoke bars have always been torture for Ben, but they had booze so he tolerated it for the sake of this absurd endeavor. Ben sat down at the end of the bar, checking his texts before he looked for whatever sexual prospects this bar offered. He swiveled his stool to the right and caught the eye of the woman taking the stool next to his. 

“Damn it,” he groaned as Rey simultaneously grumbled an exasperated “Are you kidding me?!” Neither of them moved to get up. 

“Are you stalking me?” she asked with a bit of a playful lilt. He suspected she was 70% joking, and probably the same number of drinks in as he was. They were both a bit looser than when they met at the first bar. 

“I’m barely even here willingly,” he said, gesturing around but failing to see any of his friends. “It’s a bar crawl. We’re crawling. How do I know you’re not stalking me?” 

Rey barked out a single derisive laugh as she grabbed the bartender’s attention. She ordered a gimlet, only to get carded (Ha! His turn to laugh), and she grudgingly pulled out her driver’s license. He peeked and saw COLORADO across the top. He made a small huff, which of course she noticed, and gave him an annoyed, “What?” 

“Colorado ID. You don’t see many of those around here,” he mused. 

“It’s where I learned to drive and I have an emotional attachment to it. Not that I owe you any kind of explanation!” She emphasized the last bit with a slap on the bar top. Ben noticed her chipped purple nail polish on her short fingernails, a far cry from vapid, outwardly-perfect French-tipped women he usually met. She seemed scrappy. 

“No, it’s just funny,” he trailed off as he pulled out his own Colorado license. He heard a sharp intake of breath and the plastic card was snatched out of his fingers. He only managed a weak “Hey!” as she ogled and held it out of reach. 

Rey looked completely agog, and he heard her wild ungoverned cackle above the backing track and slurring singer. 

“Oh. My. God!” she squealed. “Are your ears still this huge??” She reached up to lift up his hair, and she managed a glance before he grabbed her tiny wrist and pulled her away. They mirrored each other’s wide grins before abruptly pulling their hands apart. 

Rey handed back his license with one last light chuckle, like she was finally not completely underwhelmed by something he did. He sensed the tiniest of openings. 

“So you’re from Colorado?” he asked. 

She cocked her head to the side. “Looks that way.” They looked at one another and Ben noticed her eyes. Hazel. He had never really paid much attention to a woman’s eye color before, but hers shone even in the dim bar light. She softened pretty quickly and continued, “I’m not _actually_ though. Not really. My mom was in the air force.” He recognized that attached detachment from his own military upbringing. His family was always moving, forcing him to make new friends for a few years before moving on. This stint in the loft was maybe the longest he had lived in one place and certainly the longest he had ever stayed friends with anyone. 

“No shit. My dad was too. Were you in Colorado Springs?” Ben asked. 

She looked pleasantly surprised. “Yeah, moved there in 2006.” 

“I was there until ‘05. Did you ever live in Japan?” he volleyed. 

“Okinawa in ‘98.” 

“Lived there in ‘97. Did you learn how to do math on a soroban?” 

“It’s my go-to party trick,” she said with a smug raise of her eyebrow. 

He couldn’t help but stare at her wide, bright smile as they both acknowledge their adjacent pasts. He tried not to think too much about how his big uneven grin didn’t look particularly sexy. 

Poe sped by. “Have you seen Rose? She’s trying to go drink for drink with Finn and it’s going approximately as well as expected.” 

“She’s hammered?” Ben asked with a wince. 

“Completely tanked. She just sang ‘My Humps’ with a total stranger and then disappeared. Can you please grab Finn and Paige so we can get the hell out of here? Thankyouletsgo,” Poe called back as he disappeared to wrangle their tiniest, drunkest friend. 

Ben didn’t want to go, not yet, but he heard ‘Pony’ coming from the stage and Rose bellowing/slurring into the mic followed by some stomps and whines of “let me sing my horny song damn it Poe!” Somehow someone managed to wrest the mic from her hands and he could see them stumbling towards the door. 

“I should probably—” he started, gesturing weakly towards his maniac friends getting closer to the door. 

“Yeah, go!” she replied quickly. Her brow was scrunched up and she was staring straight at her drink. “Well, maybe I’ll—” Ben wasn’t sure how he’d finish that, but he didn’t want to be done talking yet. 

“Yeah maybe!” Rey finished for him before sliding off her bar stool and walking off. 

* * *

“Benji baby,” Finn says as he flops into a seat at the table. “What’s hot in the streets?” 

Ben looks up from his computer and sees his friend looking a little worse for wear. “How’re you doing after that ‘candy’?” 

Finn rubs his hands back forth over his face a few times before speaking. “I gotta level with you man, I think eating that might have been a bad idea.” He gets up and grabs a beer then returns to the table, noticing crumpled heart note on the table. “What did she say when you emailed her?” 

“Time will tell.” 

“Like she hasn’t answered or you haven’t sent it?” 

Ben tries to change the subject. “How are you doing post-Jannah? You meet anyone yet?” 

“No,” he says stubbornly. “And don’t try and change the subject. You’ve got it bad, dude! Plus I’m still in my morning period. It’s not even noon yet.” 

Ben looks at him, clearly confused. “Sorry, do you mean mourning? Like with a u. Because also it’s almost 9. It’s dark out. It’s definitely after noon.” 

“Mourning like a dead person?” Finn laughs at the apparent absurdity. “No way. The morning period is a _metaphor_. It like comes first and then eventually—could be days, could be months—it’s night time and you go out and get drunk and meet girls again.” 

“But you’re drunk now.” 

“Well it’s not literally morning,” Finn says with an indignant chuckle before grabbing an extra beer, cracking it open, and licking the entire mouth of the bottle. He starts walking down the hall and yelling, “HUX I’M SORRY DUDE I GOT YOU A BEER.” 

Ben cracks his knuckles and considers maybe just writing what he feels, just to see how it looks written out. 

> Rey,  
>  You are way too cool to spend any time with me, an idiot who can’t even write a simple email. It’s been so long since I went on a date and you are beyond gorgeous. I don’t even know what I’d say on this date (that’ll never happen) because you make me wildly nervous. I’m a grown ass man too scared to send an email to an amazing woman. Thank god I’m not actually going to send this 

It might be what he feels, but it’s not going to be what he sends. 

* * *

The final stop was their regular bar, thankfully. 

Ben sunk into their usual booth next to Poe who had remained stone cold sober and Rose who was chugging water. He glanced over at the bar and saw Rey standing with her friends. They made eye contact and she smiled, but Ben broke it with a frown and just stared into his whiskey. 

“Whaaaat is happening with that girl?” Poe asked wide-eyed and nosy. “She keeps looking over here and she looks _pissed_.” 

Ben started picking the label off his beer. “She’s nobody. We just ran into each other at every bar tonight. She’s beautiful, obviously, and kinda mean; but in that way that’s not that mean and actually really funny. And we’re both air force brats and—” he looked up to see his friends exchanging A Look. 

“What?” he asked. 

“What’s the problem?” Rose croaked, her voice hoarse from karaoke, yelling, and karaoke yelling. 

“Uh… nothing I guess? Except that she’s definitely relationship material. I’m just looking for a hook-up. I’m not ready for... that.” He vaguely gestured toward the bar where he could see her unleash a raucous laugh at some other dude. Was she standing in his eye-line on purpose? 

“Ohh, so you’re scared,” Poe said. Rose nodded with faux-solemnity, undercut by her mouth chasing her renegade water straw. 

“Yes. Obviously,” Ben hissed, annoyed that his friends were so quick to see through him. 

“So you’re just gonna let her leave?” Rose asked raspily, like a drunk, advice-giving witch. 

“What? No. I’m waiting a bit to talk to her again,” he said, focusing on his beer bottle like it was the secret to build up the nerve. 

“Well chop chop, because she just left,” Poe said pointing toward the door.. 

* * *

He looks up from his computer. Maybe it’s time for an outsider perspective. 

“Hey Rose...” he yells, louder than expected. 

“What’s up?” she says, bopping around the corner to the kitchen to grab a seltzer. 

“Uh, if you were like waiting for an email from a hot dude you really liked, what would you want it to say?” 

“Oh my _god_ ,” she gasps, “you still haven’t sent that girl an email yet?!” She gives him a look like he’s one of her students who she knows has a question but doesn’t want to ask and she already knows what it is but needs to make him say it out loud. She tips her head to the side, “Are you nervous?” 

He scoffs and scrunches his eyebrows as he stares at his screen again. 

“Are you nervous she’s going to think you’re weird? You’re definitely an acquired taste,” she continues, as if she’s helping. “Just try not to be so serious.” She hits the “so” way harder than she needs to as she cracks open the can. 

“Whatcha talkin’ ‘bout?” Poe says as drifts over to the table with Finn and Hux. Beer does wonders to mellow their spats. 

“He’s nervous about emailing that cute girl,” she says just as he says, “Nothing.” He silently curses her higher register and runs both hands through his hair, landing at the back of his neck as he stares at the keyboard. 

“Are you nervous she’s gonna think you’re a jerk?” Poe guesses. 

“No, she already thinks that,” Finn reminds him with a smile. “Are you worried she’s going to think you’re a sentient redwood?” 

“Like Treebeard, if Treebeard were incapable of growing good facial hair,” Rose points out with a sharp laugh. Ben can feel his ears getting redder with each accurate barb. 

“Oh my god don’t talk about your bummer music taste until at least the third date,” Hux chimes in. “Or what a picky eater you are.” 

“That’s not nearly as bad as his temper,” Paige says, taking a chair next to her sister. “Or the fact that he dresses like a Wall Street goth.” 

That sets everyone off giggling. “Remember when we ordered take out from Maz’s and they thought his order was for a kid so they included crayons and a coloring sheet?” 

“Or when he insisted on wearing all black to the beach and got heatstroke!” 

“Or that time he was so grumpy and serious when we went to see Lizzo and the bouncer assumed he was someone’s dad!” 

“Definitely don’t tell her about your Jurassic Park-era Laura Dern Sexual fantasies,” Rose chimes in with a giggle. 

“How do you even know about—” 

“Obviously Finn told me when we were dating,” Rose chirps as Ben glares at the traitor. 

“ _Guys_ ,” Ben groans. His eyes are closed and his hands are in tight fists sitting on the table. He was pretending not to be nervous, but this unleashes a fresh wave. 

“Ok fine, let’s see what you have so far…” Rose concedes as she tries to peek at the screen. He quickly tries to close the laptop and move it away from prying eyes, but she’s quicker and snatches it off the counter. “Oh my god, how many drafts have you written? ‘Hey girl’? Seriously, Ben, you cannot say that.” 

He tries to grab the computer, but she sees him coming and passes it off to Finn with an awkward squeak. 

“Oh my GOD, Ben wrote a poem!” Finn is almost breathless with laughter. 

“That’s just a draft! I’m not actually going to send that!” Ben sputters as he tries to regain control of his computer/dignity. 

“Gimme gimme!” Poe says, eager to wring as much joy from Ben’s misery as possible. “Oh Benji you’re gonna try to neg her? You already know she’s smarter than that.” 

“ _I know_! That’s not— I’m not— Just give me back my computer!” 

“Hoo boy, I just got to the horny one! Y’all, listen to this—” but Ben lunges for him before he can start reading. Poe tosses the laptop to an unsuspecting Paige. Panicking, she barely manages to grab it, holding it by the sides with the balls of her hands smashing keys on both sides of the keyboard. 

“I’m not a part of this!” she declares as she slides it onto the table like a hot potato. Ben gets up and grabs it, pushing past Poe and Finn, both doubled over with laughter. He throws elbows indiscriminately before he retrieves his computer. 

He says nothing for a few moments as he takes in what happened. His idiot friends are still chuckling lightly until they start to notice the look of complete panic on his face. 

“Ben?” Rose asks gently. 

He tries to take a deep breath, but it’s like his whole body is frozen. He exhales shakily and closes his eyes, briefly trying to imagine a world in which this hasn’t happened. “It sent them.” He pauses, lets it sink in, both for them and for himself. “It sent all 11 drafts.” 

He hears a chorus of sharp inhales and a quietly muttered “Yiiiikes.” He raises his eyes and sees a variety of levels of sympathy. Both the girls are sympathetic: Rose has her hands clutched in front of her face and Paige looks genuinely sorry. Finn’s face is scrunched up with secondhand embarrassment, and Poe is trying his best to pretend he doesn’t find it funny. Ben just knows in due time this will be added to his long list of flaws the next time they pile on. He slams his laptop shut and skulks off to his room. 

He hears Poe shout after him, “Come on man, it’s not _that_ bad!” He can barely hear anything over the anger ringing in his ears. 

* * *

Ben jumped out of the booth, scanning the room for her wavy brown hair or shirt that looked so comfy-soft or her gorgeous hazel eyes or her long limbs or the just-right-ness of everything about her. 

”Hey,” he said, slightly too winded from his light jog out of the bar. 

“He speaks!” she said, her irritation filling her tone and spilling over into her wide hand gestures. 

“Yeah sorry, I just —” he started, but she interrupted at lightning speed. 

“You’re just having trouble acting like a human person? Oh I fully pieced that puzzle together.” 

“Oh come on! I didn’t think I’d see you again! And, like, tonight was just a little—” he gestured defensively around at the dregs of his friend’s bar crawl. He could tell she was angry and still a bit drunk when she cut him off again. 

“Yeah tonight was a little,” she stated conclusively. “I don’t quite get it, Ben. You hit on me with just some truly terrible game but then we actually hit it off and the next time I run into you, you pretend you don’t see me? It’s like you were trying to ghost me, except I can literally see you on the other side of the room.” 

“I know, I just—” he attempted before she cut him off a third time, apparently still picking up steam. 

“Make it make sense, Ben!” 

“Okay!” he snapped. “Can you just,” and he paused, closing his eyes briefly to try and contain his agitation/attraction, “like power down for a sec?” 

“Yeah ok,” she conceded, her cheeks rosy from the effort of telling him off. 

“I got nervous!” he started. “I definitely don’t want to date anyone serious right now. Which sucks because you are definitely, like, pretty close to perfect and I totally _would_ date you if that were something I’m looking for right now. I _wish_ I could just sleep with you, because you’re crazy hot, but you’re also really cool so…” He sort of petered out, way too late. 

“I’m sorry, are you trying to say something nice right now?” 

“I guess I am maybe asking you for your number.” 

“ _That’s_ where that little rant was going?!” she responds, her eyes wide like she didn’t know. 

“Yes. I would like your number so I can call and ask you out on a date,” he finished, without hedging any bets or couching what he really wanted. 

She paused for a second and looked right at him, softer this time. At him not through him. 

“Yeah, ok,” she said with a smirk. Ben reached to give her his phone, but she pulled out his post-its instead. She gave him a cocky grin before writing something down on the front, flipping it over and writing something else on the back. 

When he looked at it, he couldn't help but be confused. She wrote, “EMAIL ME,” another all star bad conversation heart saying, but her number wasn’t on it. 

“Write me an email,” she said. “Full sentences, no dick pics. And we’ll see where it goes from there.” 

“An email,” Ben said assuredly. “I can do that.” 

* * *

After he slams his door, Ben falls backwards onto his bed and turns on his grumpiest, mopiest, leave-me-alone-iest playlist. It’s an easy task, given it's his only playlist. He cranks the volume up all the way on his speakers as the first drones of an Elliott Smith waltz blast into the room. Through the door he hears the muffled “UGH” of all his friends in unison. He closes his eyes and folds his arms across his face, trying to block out anything that’s not late 90s angst. 

He barely hears the soft knock at the door, but he parts his arms just enough to see Rose poking her head through the door. He turns the music down a little. 

“Hey buster.” She pauses and takes a seat on the end of his bed. “So… Hux was hoping you could turn the music down a little—” 

“I SAID OFF,” he hears yelled but muffled through the door. 

He grumbles and grabs his phone, which is stupidly always too small for his hands. He tries to swipe up and pause it, but somehow turns on the flashlight? He swipes again and hovers his thumb on the button, only to actually press it and navigate away from the music?! Any time he stupid wants to do stupid anything on his stupid small phone it never stupid does what he stupid wants. Eventually the music turns off and he tosses his phone across the bed. 

Rose waits a beat. “You could have just turned off the speaker…” Roes trails off at the end when Ben shoots her a death glare. 

“You wanna talk about it, bud?” She asks tentatively. 

“No,” he grumbles quickly but Rose just sits there, patiently. She’s a middle school vice principal; she can do this all day. 

Ben sighs and sits up next to her, slouching to match her diminutive height and his mood. “She’s perfect, Rose.” He looks over to see her listening sympathetically before he continues. “She’s funny and gorgeous. And we have so much in common already! And all I had to do was send one email. One normal, human email. Not 11 horrible drafts with all of my weirdest shit just out there for her to read.” He feels like one of their awkward, hormonal, petulant students but he can’t help it. All his normal sense went right out the window when his idiot friends sent his dream girl his dumpster brain ramblings. 

She reaches over and rubs his back a little. “They weren’t all bad. There was some okay stuff in there. Plus maybe she’s a freak and she’ll be into it!” She doesn’t sound convinced. 

He offers a dejected glare in return. He’s feeling petulant and he wants to wallow damn it. 

“Well buck up, loser,” and she slaps his back, hard, as she gets up to return to the kitchen. She turns back with her arms crossed. “You can mope like a little baby or you can help me make Poe think he’s going dog crazy.” 

Ben sighs and reaches over to his desk. “I got a fresh pack,” he says as he hands over some of the best adhesive corgis etsy has to offer. “I already put some on the bottom of his mug and inside a couple of his shoes. Left only, obviously.” 

“Obviously,” Rose parrots before continuing. “Finn helped me photoshop dog heads onto all his contact photos in the cloud. How long do you think we have before he changes his password?” 

“From ‘ILoveBB7’ to ‘ILoveBB8’? He’s a tough nut to crack.” 

“He’s such a dumbass,” Rose says and with conspiratorial chuckle before returning back to the kitchen. 

Ben takes a deep breath as he starts to weigh the pros and cons of sending another email (Haha weren’t those other emails funny! Ignore those please?) when he hears a chime. He’s a grown ass man who can’t figure out how to turn off his email sounds, but this time it makes his stomach do an unexpected flip. 

He looks at his inbox and sees a new email. That was so fast and he grimaces thinking of how quickly her rejection arrived. 

He opens the email, but he has to read it three times before it finally hits him. 

> Hey Ben,  
>  I have to admit, I’ve been waiting for your email. What took you so long? I definitely expected you to write a hasty email the day after we met and just ask me out straight away. I thought all your emails were really sweet, though I’m not sure I’m worth all that effort. I’m just, like, your average nobody. I was surprised, is what I’m saying. It was surprising. Anyways. So… tomorrow? I know Sunday isn’t the sexiest date night, but I’d like to see you again soon. Plus you already made me wait a week.  
>  Rey

He tries not to think about gross stuff like fate and feel gross things like hope, but something inside him shifts. Just a little. _Hope_ is perhaps too optimistic, but Ben relaxes when he thinks of her hard-won smile. Until he snaps out of it. 

“Shit shit shit shit,” he stammers as he pokes his head out of his door. “Hey can someone help me figure out what to wear on a date?”  
  
  


* * *


End file.
